


Tom Riddle and the Power of Friendship

by rubarbe9



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Hufflepuff, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:08:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27357022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubarbe9/pseuds/rubarbe9
Summary: Really, what was that Hat thinking? It should have been obvious to anyone with a brain that Tom belonged in Slytherin, not with those cheerful, well-meaning idiots!
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. Tom Riddle and the Power of Friendship

"Tom Riddle"

Tom approached the stool with a scowl. What a stupid way to sort new students into houses. If anyone had taken the time to ask him, he would have told them that the only house he was suited for was Slytherin, the house of cunning and ambition. He did not need a ratty old hat, even an enchanted one, to tell him that.

He winced as the decrepit and mouldy thing was lowered on his head. Surely there was something to be said about basic hygiene and the risk to the students?

"Hum, I see great ambition, yes. And deviousness aplenty. But that's not all there is to you. A deep yearning, yes, so deep you do not acknowledge it anymore. That's it, you'll be best sorted into..."

"HUFFLEPUFF"

The scowl morphed into a full-blown glower. Hufflepuff? The house of the loyal and hard-working? The one that Tom had heard people on the train call the _nice_ house? Obviously, there was something wrong with the mangy headgear. Maybe the fumes of the mould had gone to its head, so to speak?

"Professor, I don't think..."

"Congratulations, Mister Riddle! Please join your new housemates at your table."

No chance to bargain here, there. Well, he would have to hit the books later to research a way to get resorted. Preferably without having to deal with the crazy hat again.

His head held high, Tom strode towards the Hufflepuff table and stepped over the bench. He was immediately assaulted by multiple congratulations from his neighbours, fellow First Years and Prefects. One of them even insisted to give him a one-arm hug, that Tom shrugged off as soon as he recovered from the shock. This was going to be a disaster.

He sulked through the entire meal, plotted through Headmaster Dippet's welcoming speech and reluctantly followed his Prefect to the Hufflepuff Common Room once they were released.

Everything about that house was stupid: from the colours that made them look like bees wannabees, to the barrels that served as the door to the Common Room, to the rhythmic password they had to tap to gain entrance to said Common Room. The Common Room itself was not much better: it looked like the herbal garden of a medieval witch, with plants dripping from the ceiling and growing everywhere. How they were supposed to work with flowers hanging in front of their nose, he would like to know. And it looked to be designed more for comfort than for efficiency, with multiple armchairs and sofas but few desks and tables. Not that he planned to spend much time there, anyway, but still.

After showing them the dorms -he would have to share his room with four other students- the Prefects gathered the First Years again in the Common Room for the Head of House's address.

Professor Sweetbuns was well named. She was a plump witch with soft features and a gentle air. Tom instantly despised her. She was probably one of those people who would turn a blind eye to bullying and insist he had to make friends with his tormentors.

"Welcome, dears, to Hufflepuff, your new home for the next seven years. Here you will grow into the wizards and witches you are meant to be, surrounded by friends and comrades. Work hard, play nice, and most of all remember to take care of each other.

The House Rules are on the board over there, but they are nothing else than logic. As long as you practice your common sense you will have no problem.

I wish you a good first night in Hogwarts, children, and I will see you tomorrow with your timetables."

Children... Tom hated being called a child. Even more than he hated being called a freak. At least _freak_ , he could reclaim as his own. Yes, he was a freak, though he now knew that it was because he was a wizard, just a single wizard among others. But he would show them, show them that he was no ordinary wizard. And no one, _no one_ would ever dare threaten him again.

**********

Classes were going excruciatingly slow. Tom could sometimes not believe how dull his year-mates were. How many times did they need to repeat a spell before they got the incantation and wand movement right? How difficult was it to _crush_ and not _mangle_ the root of aconite?

Professor Sweetbuns, who was rapidly becoming the bane of Tom's existence with her syrupy, well-intentioned kindness, has noticed that he was breezing through his schoolwork and had asked him -understand demanded- if he would join a study group. Such groups had formed soon after the beginning of the year but Tom had wanted nothing to do with it. Now, however, he was stuck tutoring the slowest First Years of his house, all because Professor Sweetbuns believed in the magic of friendship.

Sharing a room was a pain too. His roommates kept trying to engage him in conversations that he could not care less about, on the school Quidditch Cup or the latest Wizarding band in fashion. Not to mention that two of them snored!

Well, at least no one had started bullying him here, so he guessed that Hogwarts was still marginally better than the orphanage. For now, he was protected by his anonymousness, respected by the teachers and admired by his year-mates for his grades and ignored by the upperclassmen whose radar he did not even register on.

This changed one fateful day when he made the mistake of answering the truth to an apparently innocuous question.

"What did the teacher who came to visit you did to prove that magic was real? For me, Professor Sweetbuns levitated a table and summoned a bouquet of daisies."

"Professor Llewellyn transfigured his cup into a hedgehog. It was so cool!"

"Professor Dippet made birds appear from his wand. My Ma' wasn't too happy about it because they made a mess of the living room before they disappeared."

"Professor Dumbledore set my wardrobe on fire."

This caused a gap in the discussion. The other Muggle-raised students looked at him speechless and dismayed.

"But why would he do that?"

"Oh, it was only an illusion. But at the time I truly believe that he had burned up my things."

"That's terrible! I don't understand how he would think that would make you want to come to Hogwarts."

Tom shrugged. He knew very well what Dumbledore had tried to achieve with that move but he was not about to tell the innocent little Hufflepuffs that surrounded him.

Slowly, the conversation started again, and he thought that was the end of that. A summons to Professor Sweetbuns's office the following day proved him wrong.

"Sit down, Tom. I have a few questions for you. Can you tell me what happened when Professor Dumbledore brought you your Hogwarts letter?"

"He showed me some magic and explained to me how to get to Diagon Alley and Platform Nine-And-Three-Quarters, nothing more, ma'am. Why?"

"And how did he demonstrate his magic to you. Surely a simple levitation charm, or perhaps something more flashy like a transfiguration?"

Tom could have lied, but he was pretty sure that he was only there because his year-mates had told on him. So he gritted his teeth and explained:

"He cast an illusion of fire on my wardrobe."

"Did you know it was an illusion at the time?"

"No, ma'am."

"Do you know why he would have done that? Did you ask him to show you a fire charm, maybe."

Tom shook his head but kept silent. He was not about to tell her that the wardrobe had held the various trinkets he had stolen from the other children at the orphanage.

"Very well. Tom, are you happy in Hogwarts?"

Tom looked at her, bewildered at the change of topic and at the stupidity of the question. Had he given any sign that he was happy in Hufflepuff? No, he had even taken his case to Headmaster Dippet to be resorted, to no avail. So why ask?

"I'm saddened that you aren't making more friends. Isolating yourself from your peers isn't going to make you happy in the long term, Tom. Maybe you should try joining a club?"

He stared blankly at her. She sighed.

"You may go."

**********

"Tom, Professor Sweetbuns wants to see you in her office."

Tom sighed heavily. Please, not another sermon on the value of friendship... He gathered his books and parchment and left the Library.

On the way, he reflected on how Hogwarts was different from the orphanage: over there if he were called to the matron's office it was for a scolding because the other children had accused him of something or the other. Here, it was for a piece of kindness-oozing advice to make some friends. If he thought about it, though, the main difference was probably that here he did not have to use magic to scare the other students away because no one bothered him. Well, unless you counted Melissa Shanks who had a crush on him, but it had never reached the point where he had felt it necessary to intervene.

"Come in."

He slipped into the Herbology teacher's office and, stepping over the plants covering nearly every inch of the floor, made his way to the chair in front of the desk.

"Tom, thank you for coming promptly."

"It's normal, ma'am."

"Now, I had a little talk with Professor Dumbledore about what is and what is not an appropriate demonstration of magic to a Muggle-born or Muggle-raised child and we have come to an understanding. However, he also told me that the matron of your orphanage suspected you of bullying the other kids and that you stole from them. I haven't had any complaint about you so I'm going to assume that this behaviour did not follow you at Hogwarts. I just want to make sure you know that I would not tolerate it, are we clear on that?"

Gone was the loving witch who gave sweets to all that passed through her office. In her place stood a serious woman who obviously believed in what she was saying. Mulishly staring at his shoes, Tom nodded. He had only done it because the other children were bullying him first, anyway. How typical of adults to believe he was responsible.

The next words of the teacher surprised him, however.

"I also strongly believe that children do not steal and bully without reason. Be it because you were bullied yourself, or because of another reason, I'm sure there's more to it than meets the eye. So I want you to meet with a Mind Healer. They will see you on Thursday nights in the Infirmary."

This time, Tom scowled directly at her. He did not need a Mind Healer! He was perfectly sane, thank you very much.

But no amount of scowling, or even pleading it turns out, could get the idea out of the professor's head. So Thursday night found Tom reluctantly shuffling his way towards the Infirmary to meet with his assigned Mind Healer.

The man was nothing like he would have expected. He was the opposite of serious, a goofy character who lined up joke after joke and even knew some Muggle magic tricks. It took a few sessions but he finally got Tom to smile, then laugh. At first, they did not talk about the orphanage. They talked about Hogwarts, Tom's favourite classes, his frustration at the slow progress his classmates are making, his mistrust regarding Professor Sweetbuns and all of the other adults. Then, slowly, the Healer started asking questions about his childhood. About his parents and what little he knows of them. About the things he stole. Tom did not want to talk about it, but at the same time, he was eager to prove that there was nothing wrong with him, nothing that justified seeing a Mind Healer, so he slowly revealed bits and pieces about himself.

He had thought he played the game well enough, so he was surprised when Professor Sweetbuns once again called him to her office a few weeks before Christmas.

"I've seen you've put your name down to stay during the Christmas holidays, Tom?"

"Yes, ma'am. There's no one who will miss me and I'd rather spend my holidays studying."

"Your hard work honours you, Tom, but I think you need a little bit of Christmas cheer too."

"If you say so, ma'am."

"I've organised for you to join your housemate Joseph Cooper during the holidays. His family is overjoyed to have you over, and I hope you'll be able to form deeper bonds with him during that time."

There was probably something to be said about how much scowling he had done in this very office, but he could not stop himself. What was she thinking, sending him to an unknown family for Christmas, when he had planned a quiet two weeks of research and blessed loneliness?

"Oh, and, Tom. If all goes well during Christmas, the Coopers wouldn't be opposed to hosting you during the summers. You do know that you can't stay at Hogwarts during the summer holidays, don't you."

He nodded, dumbstruck. What had his Mind Healer told her that she believed she had to save him from the orphanage? Were their conversations not supposed to be private?

He confronted the man about it during their next session.

"Of course our conversations are private! But you know that I'm required to report your general progress to the school, and I conveyed to them my opinion that going back to your orphanage would be detrimental to that progress. You can't tell me that you want to go back there, can you?"

Tom shook his head, unsure whether to be furious or grateful for the Healer's intervention.

"Though I would have prefered to stay here. What am I going to do at the Coopers? They probably have their well-ordered family dynamics, there's no way I'm going to fit into it."

"And why not?"

Because I'm not like them, thought Tom, but he did not dare say it aloud else the Mind Healer started asking why again.

**********

A few days later, Tom was working on his Potions essay with his study group when the Sixth Year Prefect approached their group.

"Hi there. I just wanted to ask the Muggle-borns in your group if someone had explained how to owl order things for Christmas."

"Owl order, how does that work," Joshua, one of the First Year Hufflepuff Muggle-born asked.

"Ah, I knew some of you would be interested. So, here is how you can order thing at distance in the Wizarding World:..."

The Prefect proceeded to explain to them all the intricacies of owl ordering and lent them a small pile of catalogues. The study group broke up to discuss Christmas gifts, the Half- and Pureblood also joining in the holiday cheer. Tom doggedly tried to continue working on his essay but the Prefect interrupted him before he could make much way.

"Riddle, aren't you going to order anything?"

"It would be a waste of time and money. I don't have anyone to give gifts to."

"I thought you were spending the holidays with the Coopers?"

"Yes, that's the plan, why?"

"It would be polite to bring a gift for them you know. No need for anything extravagant, just a little trinket to show your appreciation at them hosting you for the break."

Tom scowled. Not only was he forced to socialise over the holidays, but he would have to spend money on people he did not even know? He was of half a mind to go to his Head of House and tell her where she could put her plans...

"I'll help you select something appropriate if you want."

Tom looked the Prefect up and down, trying to determine if he had hidden motives in offering his help. Then he remembered that he was in Hufflepuff and that Hufflepuffs did not do hidden motives.

"Thank you."

The older teenager pulled the chair next to Tom and sat down. They leafed through the catalogues together, finally settling on a small reproduction of an antique Egyptian fresco for the Coopers parents and a Quidditch magazine for Joseph. Tom knew that his dormmate loved the sport, he had tried to engage him on the topic often enough. This would hardly dent the funds that the school had put at his disposal for his schooling, so Tom was happy with the selection.

**********

The day to leave Hogwarts came too soon in Tom's opinion. Joseph had started to regale him with tales of all of his family's Christmas traditions but the surly young man could not find it in himself to care. In all likelihood, the Coopers would do the bare minimum as hosts and leave him behind when they went to pick a Christmas tree or to enjoy the window displays at Harrod's. After all, they were only hosting him as a favour to Professor Sweetbuns, it wasn't like he was friend with their son.

He felt maudlin as the train left the Hogsmeade station, a rare state for him. For all that he did not like it in Hufflepuff, Hogwarts had become his home more than the orphanage, where his magic was a hidden freakish occurrence, had ever been.  
Thankfully he had borrowed a book from the Library and he was able to ignore his bumbling feelings by immersing himself into the intricacies of inanimate Transfiguration.

Joseph Cooper came to fetch him in his compartment a few minutes before the Hogwarts Express pulled in London.

"Hi Tom, you might want to change out of your robes. My parents will probably take us for lunch in Muggle London before going home."

Sighing, Tom put his book away in his satchel and complied. Joseph laughed.

"You should have been in Ravenclaw. They are the ones that hate holidays usually."

Tom did not have much to say to this. He still believed wholeheartedly that he belonged to Slytherin, but Ravenclaw would probably have fit him in a pinch. Not like the utterly _nice_ Hufflepuff. Well, no point crying over spilt milk.

He followed Joseph out of the train and onto the platform. They had to navigate the crowd with their trunks, which was no mean feat, until Joseph spotted his parents standing on the side.

Mr and Mrs Cooper looked like a couple of very normal middle-class Muggles. No one would have guessed that they were actually magical. Mrs Cooper wore a classy beige raincoat with a red scarf while her husband sported a black thick woollen coat and an assorted fedora. They welcomed Joseph with a heartful hug and Tom with a warm smile.

"We're glad to have you for the holidays, Tom. I hope that you'll like your time with us."

"Thank you very much, ma'am."

"Let us be moving, we have a reservation at a little French restaurant a few minutes away for the station for lunch. Here, let me shrink your trunk."

Trunks shrunk, the family and Tom set off.

  
They had a nice lunch, despite Tom's embarrassment when the Coopers had told him that they were paying for him. They had insisted that as long as he was under their roof they would treat him, which was just as well because Tom would have had a hard time affording the food in the mid-range restaurant.

After their meal, they took a leisurely walk through London until they reached an out of the way alley where the parents Side-Apparated the children to the Coopers' home.

They arrived in a classic living room, not that Tom had ever been inside a middle-class house, but it was how he had imagined it: a brown sofa and two assorted armchairs, shelves full of books, a large fireplace covered in photographs and knick-knacks all over the place. Joseph immediately offered to give him a tour of the house, which comprised of the living room, a dining room, a study, the kitchen and a lavatory on the ground floor and three bedrooms and a bathroom on the first floor. There was a small but well-maintained garden outside and they could glimpse at the sea from the windows on the upper level. Tom was set up in the guest bedroom, a small but welcoming space decorated in all shades of blue. Mrs Cooper came to unshrink his trunk and suggested that he and Joseph take a walk around the village so Tom would know his way around.

They did so, and for Tom, who had only known the busy life of London before Hogwarts, the disorientation was upsetting. Joseph gave him the grand tour, from the centre of the small, quiet town with its pub and its grocer's shop, to the cliffs a few minutes away from the last houses. Tom was reminded of that trip during which he had gotten back at Dennis Bishop and Amy Benson after baiting them into following him into that cave... He nearly longed for this sensation of power he had gotten when enacting his revenge against his tormentors at the orphanage. Nearly, because he was aware that it had come at the cost of his bullying by the other children, something he far from missed at Hogwarts.

When they got back, Joseph proposed a game of Exploding Snaps and Tom had to agree, not wanting to be rude. They played for quite a long time, as even Tom got engrossed in the game and before they knew it it was time for dinner. Joseph got asked to set the table, leaving Tom to stand awkwardly out of the way as he had no idea where things were. Noticing him, Mrs Cooper sent him to fetch some basilic from the small enchanted greenhouse in the garden. Tom did not dare admit that he did not know what basilic looked like so he took the pair of scissors and went outside. He had been hoping that the plants would be labelled like in the Hogwarts greenhouse but he was out of luck and could only stand dumbly in front of the dozen or so aromatics present in the greenhouse. In the end, he was rescued by Mr Cooper, who had been sent by his wife to see what was taking the young man so long. The older wizard cut in few branches of one of the plants and gave them to Tom with a wink, without Tom having to explain anything.

After that dinner was a peaceful affair. Joseph regaled his parents with stories of Hogwarts that he had not already told at lunch and Tom only intervened when asked a direct question. They went to sleep early, tired from their full day and early morning.

  
The next few days were full of surprise for Tom. Far from leaving him behind, the Cooper family included him in all their activities, from the picking of the tree to the baking of the Christmas biscuits. Against all odds, Tom was starting to have fun and feel slightly comfortable with the family. They were all easygoing people but respected his frequent need for quiet and solitude, teasing him good-naturedly about his love for books. Mr Cooper had taken the time to introduce Tom to their library, from which he was allowed to take any book he could reach unaided. The young wizard was glad for it because the two tomes he had been allowed to borrow from Hogwarts would clearly not have lasted him the holidays.

But the bigger surprise was yet to come.

On Christmas morning, he was awakened by a hyperactive Joseph who pulled him out of bed before the sun had risen. He was dragged to the sitting room, pushed down on the sofa by his -dare he think it- friend, and offered a cup of steaming tea by Mrs Cooper, who was smiling indulgently at her son. Under the tree was the expected pile of wrapped up presents of all sizes and shapes. What was unexpected was that Joseph immediately pushed one of the parcels into his hands, excitedly stating:

"Open it, it's from us!"

Still only half awake, it took Tom a few seconds to process what the other boy had told him. He had not expected any gifts. Inwardly he made a note to thank the Sixth Year Prefect when they got back to Hogwarts. The situation was awkward enough without him having thought of a gift to reciprocate.

Apparently, he had taken too long to contemplate his plight because Joseph shook his shoulder, calling his name in a worried tone. Bringing himself back to the present, Tom thanked the Coopers profusely -Mrs Cole had not brought him up to be anything but polite- and proceeded to unwrap the gift. It turned out to be a book on Wizarding secular traditions, titled _From Yule to Midsummer, the Muggle-born guide to Wizarding celebrations_.

"We hope you like it. We weren't too sure what to pick for you but Joseph told us you'd read anything you could find on the Wizarding culture, and this book isn't in the Hogwarts Library, so..."

Tom thanked them again, sincerely this time. Wizarding traditions were indeed one of his interests that Hogwarts did not provide enough information about. How were Muggle-raised students to integrate into the Wizarding World if not one took the time to give them the resources to do so?

The next gift opened was one received by Joseph from one of his uncles. It was a miniature Hogwarts look-alike complete with figurines of the professors and a few nondescript students. Joseph put it inside grumbling that he was too old for this kind of things, but Tom would later catch him playing happily with it. Next came a couple of trinkets to the parents from various family members, then one of Tom's gifts. Joseph took it eagerly from the pile and wondered aloud who it was from. Tom realised that he had not thought to add his name on the tag, he was not familiar with the customs of gift-giving. He had to speak up, embarrassed, and admit that he was the giver. Joseph passed the parcel to his mother who opened it and thanked Tom warmly for the fresco reproduction.

The morning went on with more presents and more thanks given, Tom receiving another book from Joseph on Concealment and Locking Charms, "Because I know you value your privacy" and a few boxes of chocolate from other members of his study group. He would have to owl order some cards to thank them all. The Quidditch magazine from Tom to Joseph was also a success as the other boy did not have it already.

Once all presents had been distributed and opened, they decided to have a late breakfast, or an early lunch depending on how one looked at it, and gorged themselves on the leftovers from Christmas dinner.

For New Year, the Coopers took the children to a party organised by the Smiths, an old Pureblood family renowned to be descending from Helga Hufflepuff herself. To Tom's consternation, they were expected to spend the entire evening socialising with their peers, something he had no training at. He had worked hard at Hogwarts not to be thought of as the poor and uncouth orphan but his charade was sure to be over after an evening of mingling with people outside of his league.

So there he stood, at the margins of the group of young teenagers, his untouched glass of pumpkin juice in hand, unwilling to take part in the conversation. This lasted until one of the bolder Slytherin boys challenged him:

"So, Riddle, heard you come from a Muggle orphanage. How is it there? Full of rats and cockroaches I imagine."

Tom turned crimson but before he could think of a witty comeback to save face, Joseph came to his rescue.

"Oh, come off it, Avery. Everybody knows that your parents didn't want you. If it wasn't for the need for an heir, you'd have been the one growing into an orphanage. At least Tom is a decent chap, unlike you!"

The group laughed at Avery, who pointed at Joseph and spat:

"No one asked you anything, Cooper. You should do well to remember your place."

He then left, probably to find his parents and complain, if Tom's assessment of his character was correct.

  
Later, when the party had quieted down and Tom and Joseph were munching on _petit-fours_ alone in a corner, Tom found the courage to ask his companion what Avery had meant when he had said to remember his place.

"Well, the Slytherins have a twisted albeit simple vision of the world. For them, your status in society is determined by how far you can go into your ancestry without meeting a Halfblood or a Muggle-born. In short, how _pure_ your blood is. Avery's family is part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, the _true_ Purebloods, while we Coopers have a Muggle-born witch in our family tree three generations back. This makes us less worthy in their eyes."

"But, how do Halfblood and Muggle-borns cope in Slytherin in that case, if they are considered inherently inferior?"

"Usually they are at the bottom of the food chain, so to speak. But the Slytherins have a weird sort of loyalty to their own, so they'll teach their non-Pureblood members to pass as Purebloods. Not that anyone is a dupe, of course, everyone knows everyone in the Wizarding World."

"Nearly makes me glad I was sorted into Hufflepuff, then."

"Oh yeah, you'd definitively been picked on quite a lot in Slytherin. But I still think you are a Ravenclaw at heart, with your love of books," Joseph teased as he bumped into his shoulder shockingly.

**********

Tom was glad to be back at Hogwarts. The Coopers had confirmed that they would host him again for the summer should he wish for it, and while he had appreciated and maybe even enjoyed his time there, he was happy to go back to class and the routine of schoolwork. He had a plan to become the most powerful wizard in existence, after all, and that could not happen if he was gallivanting in the countryside with Joseph.

With the start of the new semester, the sessions with his Mind Healer came back. The first time he saw the man again, he had blurted out, to his utter mortification:

"I think I might have made a friend."

Instead of appearing gleeful and declaring his work there done, the Healer had calmly asked him how that made him feel.

Tom had to mull over the question for a few minutes. Despite his frequent meetings with the Mind Healer, emotions still were not his forte. He had never cared much about them before, and truthfully only did now because he had learnt they could be used to fuel his magic.

"I think I am... divided. There is a part in me that is warm and satisfied, maybe slightly excited. But I am also terribly angry, at Joseph and at myself, because he is getting in the way."

"In the way to what?"

Tom nearly blushed. He had never told anyone about his life goal. In Hufflepuff, no one would have understood, and the Slytherins had made it clear from the very start of the year that they had no time to waste on a poor Half-Blood orphan. But the Healer would probably interpret a refusal to answer in a ridiculous and possibly dangerous was. A half-answer then.

"Powerful people do not have friends."

"Don't they?"

The Healer's face was still as neutral as ever, but Tom felt like the question was a trap. What was the older wizard expecting him to say? Friends, anyone you cared for actually, they were a weakness. You could not keep something safe that you could not control, and human beings tended to protest control. Tom was certain that Joseph would not be his friend for long if he were to lock him up, regardless of Tom's reasons or the quality of the cage.

Sensing from Tom's prolonged silence that this line of questioning would not get them anywhere, the Healer tackled the topic from a more direct angle:

"What kind of power are you going after?"

Tom frowned. What kind of power? There was only one kind, that which dissuaded most people from attacking you and let you crush the few idiots who dared prey on you.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, power can take many forms. Offensive and defensive magical power, of course, physical skills, money, knowledge, reputation... And the vast majority of people do not seek power in itself. They want something from it. Maybe eternal fame, or a certain standard of living, safety, the ability to cure a dying friend..."

Tom's frown deepened. He could see how all those could be regarded as power and realised he might have to give more thought to his life-plans. Not that he was going to admit that to the Healer. Instead, he skirted the issue.

"I don't see how that changes things. Caring is still a weakness. And the more powerful you are, the more your enemies are going to look for ways to defeat you."

The Mind Healer didn't look a single bit bothered by his patient's aggressive retort. In fact, he gave Tom a wide grin and pulled a pack of cards out of his robe pocket.

"Maybe so, but sometimes it's worth it. I've learnt this new trick over the holidays, care to indulge me?"

Tom sighed. The older wizard sometimes did that, when he felt like a line of discussion had reached its end. He'd offer to show Tom some Muggle magic tricks and ignore any attempt to get back the conversation on track. The young man did not even try anymore. It was easier to pretend to be overawed by the mundane tricks of the mind the Healer liked to perform with cards, coins and other common implements.

**********

"Hey, got room for one more?"

Tom sent Joseph a glare that he hoped was vicious enough to make his maybe-friend get the hint and leave him alone. He had not climbed all the way up to the top of the Astronomy Tower because he wanted company!

Apparently his wish was not heard, though, because Joseph hauled himself on the windowsill, _his_ windowsill, and pulled his legs in a lotus, facing the brooding boy. Tom ostensibly turned his way toward the grounds, intent on ignoring the disruption.

Joseph let him be for a few minutes, looking over the grounds himself, enjoying the late afternoon sun that so unusually warmed the day, after a month-long stretch of dreary weather. Scottish winters stank... Not as much as experiencing a life crisis at twelve though. Tom gnashed his teeth while inwardly cursing his weaselly Mind Healer. The man had had the fantastic idea to contract scrofungulus right after their first appointment of the year and was now quarantined for at least a month. As a result, Tom was left alone to chew over their discussion about power and friendship, and it was turning his mood even sourer than being sorted into Hufflepuff had done.

"I'm not going to ask what crawled up your butt and died again. I just wanted to warn you, Professor Sweetbuns's all worried about you again. She cornered me after lunch and asked if anything had happened. Said she might have to send you to the Hospital Wing for a scan if you didn't sunny up, just in cause someone cursed you or anything. I know you hate it when she goes all motherly on you, so I said you were unhappy because of the cold but Phillips was teaching you the Warming Charm so you should be okay soon. Honestly, though, that's not going to stall her forever"

"How do you know I don't like Sweetbuns?"

Tom fixed his housemate with a frankly suspicious stare. He had never said a single word against the adults in the school, not wanting to bring trouble upon his head.

Joseph's answering sigh sounded highly put-upon.

"Seriously, Tom, I thought you were over that. Hufflepuff might not be known for its smarts, but that doesn't mean we are stupid. Or _blind_. I'm pretty sure even the _House ghost_ has noticed how you look positively murderous whenever she asks you how you are doing."

"Whatever," Tom grumbled, unhappy he had been so obvious in his distaste.

"So, what are you going to do about her?"

Tom nearly snapped at him to mind his own business, before a fleeting thought crossed his mind. Hum, yes. Maybe it was actually a good way to figure out what that thrice-damned Healer had meant. And if it failed and Joseph ratted him out... Well, that dotty Head of House already blamed his antisocial behaviour on his pitiful orphan Muggle upbringing, he could probably milk that misconception further.

He turned back to Joseph but this time his gaze with appraising.

"Would you lie to her again if I asked?"

His dormmate looked honestly surprised by the question, but to his honour, he did not hesitate.

"Of course I would. Well, unless lying would put you in obvious and immediate danger, I'd rather have you angry at me than dead. Honestly, though, don't you think it would be easier to just talk about whatever is making you so unhappy?"

This time, Tom did tell him to mind his own business. But the demand did not hold as much venom as it could have, because the pale boy was already mulling over what Joseph's answer meant, for him and for his quest for power.

**********

After much thought, reading a few thousand pages of biographies of renowned historical characters, and a heated discussion with his -at last fungus-free- Healer, Tom had decided to give the whole _friends_ thing an honest go until the end of the year. He was not planning to become a simplistic minion of Sweetbuns's humanity-loving cohort, but he would stop holding his dormmates and study partners at arm's length. He would also try not to clam up anymore when that curious warm feeling made itself known whenever Joseph sought him out. His grand idea was to determine if, indeed, acquiring friends could benefit him on his path to power, and if so, who, when and how.

**********

"Sir, Cooper just threw a Flobberworm into my cauldron!"

Tom raised his head sharply. Kirtbee was at it again. She'd been bothering Joseph for a couple of weeks now, bumping into him in the corridors, casting aspersions at his family, slipping him threat notes in class... She was supposedly avenging her older brother's honour after he had been given the elbow by one of Joseph's cousin, though it looked more and more like she just enjoyed being a bully.

Tom had wanted to shut the girl up a dozen times already, but Joseph had very seriously asked him not to, claiming that he did not want Tom to get in trouble and that he could always ask Professor Sweetbuns for help if Kirtbee did not get bored soon. Tom believed Joseph was being stupid, but he also thought that, as a friend, he was supposed to respect his wishes, so he had kept his uncharitable thoughts to himself and his wand holstered. But now...

Slughorn, bumbling, social climber Slughorn, was already moving to lecture Joseph, not even noticing the flabbergasted expression on the Hufflepuff's face nor the fact that out of the two students, Kirtbee was the only one with flobberworm mucus on their hands. The conniving bully was the grand-daughter of a Department Head in the Ministry of Magic, she could have drowned her potion bench partner in the cauldron and Slughorn would have probably sworn it had been an accident. Unless the partner in question was related to someone even more famous or powerful than old Kirtbee, of course.

Still, Tom felt like he had to try, so he stood up and inserted himself between his friend and the Potion Professor.

"He did not do it, sir. He hasn't left our bench since we started brewing and we would all have seen _and_ heard it if he had thrown a flobberworm into her cauldron from across the classroom."

Slughorn's face contorted into that constipated expression he always sported when he had to tell a student he liked off for something.

"Mr Riddle, I understand you wanting to defend your friend, of course, and you are doing your House proud, but _someone_ has obviously added a flobberworm into this cauldron, and I have absolutely no reason to distrust Miss Kirtbee.

Now, Mr Cooper, as I was saying, by this time of the year you should be aware of how dangerous it is to add unplanned ingredients to a brewing potion. I expect an essay on my desk on what could have happened had you not chosen this exact moment to sabotage your classmate's work, at least two feet. And detention on Saturday after lunch."

As Slughorn instructed everybody to go back to work, and hurry to Kirtbee's side to see how they could salvage her potion, Tom had to grab the side of the workbench to stop himself from shaking in rage.

"Thanks for trying," Joseph whispered as he started cutting up his dandelions again. "At least he didn't dock any points from our work."

Tom turned his burning stare on his friend, unwilling to believe that he was willing to let it rest at that. Tom, for one, already knew that he would not let them go unpunished. No one, _no one_ hurt what was his and left unscathed. It was a promise he had made himself in the orphanage quite early on and there was no question going back on it, even if the "his" was something rather than someone this time around.

**********

June saw Tom sharing a compartment on the Hogwart Express with Joseph, who he was going to spend his summer with, the other Hufflepuff boys from their year and a mountain of sweets Tom had bargained for with the house-elves that tended to the castle to celebrate. As far as his dormmates knew, they were celebrating the end of the school year and their exam results. Inwardly, Tom was savouring the taste of a revenge well served.

Somewhere on the same train, Belinda Kirtbee was blubbering over the gruesome death of her toad, who had _accidentally_ fallen from the top of the Grand Staircase, splattering the passing-by students with slimy body parts, just before the Leaving Feast. Tom knew that Joseph was not entirely without suspicions but the dark-haired youth was sure his friend would forget it about as soon as they were home. Really, dealing with his housemates' excessive sensitivities could be such a pain at times. Tom had had to keep all his plans to himself when really he could have used a little help with the spellwork.

At least for Slughorn, he had not needed any complicated spellwork. He had simply sent a couple of anonymous letters to the Ministry, taking care to borrow parchment and quills from fellow students and to style his writing to look different. The poor, poor Potion Professor had been so beside himself when the Aurors had appeared to search his rooms for recreational drugs. Tom had had a hard time to school his face when he really wanted to crow at the wizard's humiliation.

One day, he would be so powerful that no being would dare harm his friends, but for now he and his and been avenged.


	2. Alternative Epilogues: The Greater Good Epilogue

Lord Riddle was pissed. Was a little recognition too much to ask for? After all, he was dedicating his life, sacrificing his time and health to make the world a safe, welcoming place for people to raise their children in. But no, no, there always had to be some despicable ingrate to complain and rebel and foment assassination plans.

And now he'd have to cancel his weekly dinner with Joseph. Again. Which really wasn't fair on Joseph because Tom was his only visitor. Unless you counted the house-elves, but they had been instructed to only appear when he was sleeping and to ignore all attempt at communication.

Lord Riddle sighed as he thought about Joseph. The Dark Lord really wished his friend would come to his senses already. He might sit more on the heavy-handed style side of the scales, as a leader, but even he did not exactly enjoy locking his best friend up for twelve years. He had no choice though. He could not let his first and closest friend die, and die he would if he kept trying to murder Tom.

In any case, he would have to send Joseph a gift in apology for their missed meal. It was only proper. Maybe that mystery book Avery had been mentioning the week before. Yes, he would send an elf to procure the book while he was imparting the stupidity of their action on the last two slugs who had tried to blow him up.


	3. Alternative Epilogues: The Definitevely Disturbing Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This epilogue is rather creepier than the main story. Main triggers: suicide, corpses, necromancy, drinking oneself stupid.

**THIS EPILOGUE CONTAINS TRIGGERS. PLEASE READ THE NOTES BEFORE PROCEEDING.**

No one had suspected anything at first. Tom Riddle was, and had always been, quite unusual, so there was really no need for concern. He was very attached to his friends, yes, relationships he had built at Hogwarts and during years of youthful travelling. But he was far from the first man to be highly critical of his best mate's fiancee, and no one had ever been able to trace the many accidents that befell whoever upset his comrades to him.

Tom Riddle was known as an eccentric genius, an anti-social wizard that kept his knowledge close and the few people he cared for even closer. He was barely seen out in town and only his friends had ever been invited into his home -an isolated cottage on a bleary Scottish island.

Hence why it had taken so long for anyone to realise what was going on.

Even Tom's closest friends rarely came by unannounced. Not that they would have been badly received, but Tom's experiments tended to be temperamental and there was only so many times one could repair acid-eaten robes or regrow blown-off limbs. Plus, it happened that Tom's friends had all been highly successful in their chosen carriers and successful people generally had very busy calendars.

With that in mind, maybe Aldrick should have Floo-called first before barging into Tom's cottage, a crumpled parchment in one hand and a half-empty bottle of Firewhiskey in the other. To his defence, the shock of the wife leaving him for a Russian construction worker had already dampened his common sense quite a lot and the alcohol had done away with the rest. This peculiar state of hindered cognitive abilities also meant that, when he came upon a ladder leading to a basement room after stumbling around the various rooms of the ground floor, he did not think of the massive marble bookshelf that usually stood in its place. And that when he slipped and crashed down the last few rungs of the ladder into a massive room covered entirely in gold inscribed with runes, he barely looked around, too drunkenly happy to have finally found his mate.

The terrifying reality of the content of Tom's basement only struck Aldrick the next day, after fumbling through his bathroom cupboard and downing a hangover potion. The blessed effect of the potion only cleared his head for a moment before images of the previous night started flashing across his mind. He remembered the ladder, the gold-covered basement, the stricken expression of his friend, the many -far too many- drinks directly from whatever bottle Tom had last conjured, ... and the corpses. Joseph, Donatello, Andrew, ... all of their dead friends, there, dead but not at rest, wandering around the room with empty eyes and fleshy flakes falling on the floor from their partially mummified bodies. And Tom, who looked at them with such pride and affection, almost like a parent. Aldrick lurched toward his toilet and emptied his stomach in the bowl.

Several minutes later he was still heaving, his brain stuck on a loop as he replayed the -admittedly blurry- images of the night. It would take him a few hours to abandon his toilet bowl and gather the courage to Apparate to the Ministry. Tom was waiting for them in front of his cottage, obviously expecting them but still spearing Aldrick with a sadly disappointed stare. His last and only words, before he crushed the runic spere he held in his hand, were "You cannot take them. They are mine."


	4. Alternative Epilogues: The Pleasingly Political Epilogue

Tom Riddle sipped on his cup of tea while going over the front page of the latest Daily Prophet. The photo of him that accompanied the article on his inauguration of the Inter-Species Magical Primary School was far from the best they had ever published but it was adequate. As expected, the public reception of the new Ministry-funded centre was overwhelmingly positive. So positive, in fact, that Tom might even reward himself with a work-free morning one of these days for a job well done.

The pitter-patter of naked feet on marble floor announced the arrival of Daisy and his daily mail. Tom thanked her -after all respect bred stronger loyalty than fear ever could- and picked his incoming correspondance up. Only private letters and matter of the upmost importance made their way to his breakfast table. The rest was waiting on his personal assistant's desk to be annotated, sorted into appropriate categories, and archived, destroyed or delivered to his office at the Ministry depending on their contents.

A brief leaf-through revealed that nothing work-related had been deemed urgent enough by his night secretary, so Tom was able to turn his attention to the ink-blotted envelopp that was the trademark of his godson. The boy was writing about his recent excursion to Stonehenge, complete with abundant superlatives, butchered spelling and approximate grammar. Enclosed by the enthusiastic urchin was a drawing of himself surrounded by raised stones. At least that was what Tom guessed those vertical grey streaks were, but in all honesty they might have been dead trees. Or rain. Tom put the drawing aside, smiling. The elves would frame it and it would join its predecessors on the wall of his private study. He had quite the collection now.

The rest of the letters were more conventional: two birthday parties, an invitation to dinner by Professor Slughorn, news from a friend who had emmigrated to the other side of the Pond, and a negative answer to an enquiry he had sent to an antique bookshop. Nothing that required an immediate response.

Time to start the day then. Tom swiftly gathered the newspaper and stood from the table, throwing a glance at his watch to make sure he was not running late. No that anyone would dare comment on his arrival time, of course, but the precious few times he had not been seating at his desk at nine o'clock sharp he had found his office in complete disarray and all his staff running around like headless chickens. Really, he was still trying to figure out how the British Magical World had managed to cope before his election...

Prejudice, media manipulation, corruption aplenty. The magical governement had been driven by wizards and witches, for wizards and witches. And mostly _pureblood_ ones, to boot. Tom had done away with all that and built a strong society where every being was equally respected -and equally expected to pay taxes.

It had not been easy, naturally. When he had first set foot on this political path, in his Third Year at Hogwarts, he had been ridiculed and scorned by those better born. He had had to contend with the detestable concerns of his Head of House who had apparently thought ambition would curddle his soul of something of the sort. He had had to navigate the suspicions of Dumbledore and the threats of the Pureblood scions. But he had kept on, driven by the words of his friend and housemate Joseph: "If you hate the world so much, why don't you work on making it a better place?"

Never had a sentence, spoken in jest, brought such a change in paradigm to Tom. From there on, he had studied and lobbied and negociated endlessly, with his schoolmates first, then the shopkeepers in Diagon Alley, the Goblins from Gringotts, the Daily Prophet reporters... The moment, _THE_ moment when he knew he had won was when, as the Wizengamot devolved into chaos after he presented the outline of his Magical Beings Equal Right Bill, he sighed: "How very Muggle..."

The effect had been instantaneous on the members seating closest to him, and soon his words, whispered from one row to another, had every single face glaring at him in outrage. From there it had not taken much to convince them that discrimination and prejudice were what _Muggles_ did, backward, uncivilised, unworthy of them. A few particularly close-minded fosiles still heckled and bickered over every little piece of legislation he put forward for the vote, but Tom had been Minister for twelve years now and he well intended to win the next elections.

After all, he had to make sure the world was the _very best_ one for his godson.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the redditers who helped me figure out how to tie up the story and inspired the epilogues, in particular u/HarryPotterIsAmazing, u/bgottfried91 and u/MajoorAnvers


End file.
